


Coulda

by DilynAliceBlake



Series: Jefferson/Hamilton [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilynAliceBlake/pseuds/DilynAliceBlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate series of events wherein Jefferson doesn't talk to Burr and Hamilton during lunch, and the workday continues without any of the drama that followed via message and in person.</p><p>How about some other drama instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Burr pushes into Alexander, and savors the groans that the movements of his hips elicit.  Hamilton is spread out below him on Jefferson's desk, both his shirts unbuttoned and spread as widely open as the man's legs. 

  
"We both have wives waiting for us at home, Alexander," Aaron says, closing his eyes at the  thrill the fantasy sends through him.  With their wedding rings pressed against each other, it's easy to ignore Hamilton's pending divorce and the open state of Burr's marriage to lose himself in the sickly sweet guilt, manufactured as it may be.

  
"What do you think they would say, if they knew we were only staying late so I could fuck you over our boss's desk?"

  
Hamilton shudders at that, and Aaron switches gears.

  
"What do you think Jefferson would do, if he knew his soulmate was getting fucked into his desk right now?"  Burr runs a hand over the words displayed for once so brazenly.

  
"Do you think he would be jealous?  Or would he like the look of you with your legs spread open too much to want to stop us?"

  
Hamilton really is a sight, lips ruby red and hair a sexed mess.  Halfway to orgasm, he doesn't seem to have anything to say.  His eyes talk for him, conveying bliss and misery all at once.  It's cruel to bring up Jefferson when Hamilton has convinced himself that he can't have the man, but at the same time it's an outlet that Alex needs.  Even saying Thomas' name has Alexander twitching.

  
"Do you think that Madison has ever fucked him across this desk?" Aaron poses, and that's too much for both of them.  They each spiral into their own guilty bliss.  
Aaron pulls himself out of it, and out of Alexander, discarding the condom while the other man is still in a daze.  Post coital bliss is possibly an even better look on Alexander than desperately chasing orgasm, and Burr snaps a picture before he can stop himself.

  
"You have my number," he says, kissing Alexander's cheek and handing him a box of tissues before leaving to go home.  He glances at the picture of Alex with his own come puddled on his stomach several times just on his way to the car, and finally gives in to what is probably a disastrous idea.


	2. Chapter 2

For him, Alexander was just a convenient fuck; but for someone else he might be more.  Burr buys a burner phone, because he doesn't have a death wish, and sends the picture to it before typing in Jefferson's number and forwarding it.  He took the picture from the side with the sentence, so it's readable all the way to the word ' _i_ _deals_.'  If staying home tomorrow wouldn't be as good as proof that he was the one who fucked Alexander then Aaron would do it.  He prays that Jefferson doesn't decide to watch the security video, but even if he does get fired, helping those two idiots was worth it.  Burr is a bit of a sucker for love stories.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas Jefferson is trying to convince himself that he isn't lonely in his big empty house when his phone buzzes with a text.

  
UNKNOWN NUMBER, it displays, and Thomas is annoyed.  It's probably someone who mistyped a number, and now he'll have to go through the awkward explanation that he isn't who they're trying to contact; all while being conveniently reminded that he is lacking in friends outside the office.  He clicks open anyway, because he's bored, and is greeted by Alexander Hamilton, fucked open on what is unmistakably HIS desk, hair a mess and cum across his stomach.

  
For an eternity, all Thomas can focus on is the fact that someone just fucked Alex, which means that Alex isn't straight.  Then jealousy rears it's head, and even though this picture is more than he ever thought he'd see of Hamilton, Jefferson is still filled with hate at whoever got to see more.  He despises with a burning passion whoever it is that got to put Alexander into such a state.  Thomas wants, suddenly, to drive all the way to the office and add his own semen to the lube leaking out of Alexander's ass.

  
It's preposterous, since by the time he got there Alexander would likely be long gone, and even if he weren't, there's no way he'd have an interest in Thomas of all people.  
He sets his phone down quickly, mind racing as he tries to determine who could possibly have figured out about his feelings for Alex, and what motive they would have for inciting his jealousy.  Is the picture a taunt?  Surely it must be, because Thomas will never close his eyes again without seeing the exact shade of Alexander's nipples.

  
...Nipples.  Alexander's shirt had been open in the picture.  What?  Surely not!  Surely his mind was fantasizing, playing cruel tricks.  It was common knowledge that the Nevisian was drastically body shy, there was no way he had been so casually displayed.

  
...Jefferson would have to look again, to be completely certain.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Thomas storms into the office nearly an entire hour late, looking like nothing more than a fluffed up cat in his obvious ire.  He raps on Alex's door so loudly that everyone in the hall can hear, and when it swings open to reveal a perfectly normal looking Alexander any calm Jefferson might have had has snapped.

  
" _How **DARE** you_!"  He snarls.

  
Hamilton glances tellingly towards Jefferson's office door, and Thomas growls.

  
"How dare I what?" he asks meekly, but there's not really any question.

  
"I received a picture last night-"

  
"That bastard!" Hamilton's temper flares.

  
"You expect me to believe you didn't know?"

  
Hamilton looks confused.

  
"Know?  You think I would _consent_ to having my picture taken in such a state?!"

  
Jefferson stops.  He thinks of how closely guarded Hamilton's modesty is, even when the man is being shameless.  He lets himself consider that Hamilton's offense might be genuine.

  
"It wasn't faked?" he verifies, because suddenly there is a chance that he isn't being mocked.  That Hamilton trusted someone enough to let him see him when they fucked, and whoever that person was realized what the sentence on Alex's skin meant, and betrayed that trust to tell him.

  
That creates a whole mixed bag of feelings in Thomas, from protectiveness to guilty thankfulness.

  
"Of course it wasn't faked!  Why would you think-" Hamilton cuts off, following the line of Thomas' thoughts last night.

  
"That's fucked up," he says quietly, though whether he's referring to what Jefferson thought, or that Thomas would accuse him of such cruelty is a tossup.  It's probably both.

"Would you like to come into my office?" Alexander asks, and Thomas gives a grateful nod.

  
"Thank you, I don't think I could face going into mine, right now."

  
Hamilton nods, and steps back.

  
They both stand avoiding each other's eyes, until Thomas plucks up the courage to speak.

  
"So," he swallows, "It wasn't faked.  Who all... Knows?"

  
"Just us three," Hamilton murmurs, "You, me, and-"

  
" **Don't**!" Thomas barks.  Hamilton looks startled.

  
"I would rather not know who sent me that picture."

  
"You don't know who sent it?" Hamilton looks surprised for a moment.

  
"It was from an unknown number.  I almost didn't look at it."

  
Alexander gives a small laugh.

  
"That's just like him."

  
"Could you," Jefferson gulps at the awkwardness of the request.  "Could you _not_?  Talk about him, I mean."

  
"Right.  Sure.  So, you've seen..."

  
"I saw a lot, Hamilton, you'll have to be more specific."

  
Alexander blushes, and jerks his shirt up to expose the lettering.

  
It feels real, seeing it in person.  There's no mistaking a soulmark.  They have more depth than a tattoo; there's something  _other_ about them that makes the way the ink shimmers and the words sit impossible to duplicate.


	5. Chapter 5

"Fuck, Hamilton," Thomas very nearly falls to his knees right there to worship the words and the body that holds them.  He doesn't though.  Instead he settles for gripping the waist of Alexander's pants and tugging down until ever millimeter is clearly displayed.  He reads the entire thing, even though he pretty well knows what it says.

  
"You could have told me," he says quietly, hurt by how obvious it is that Alexander has _known_ for the entirety of their acquaintance.

  
"You hate me," Alexander states sharply, like that's the end of it when it isn't even true.

  
"I... Can see why you might think that," Thomas admits, and Alexander is looking at him like he's suddenly started speaking a language he doesn't know.

  
"You don't?"

  
"I never have.  I hated how I felt about you.  I directed my anger about it at you.  That's not the same as hate."

  
Alex lips his lips.  Their entire universe is on a precipe.  All they need to do now is tip it.

  
"How did you feel about me?"  Alexander dares to ask.

  
"I'm in love with you," Jefferson replies without hesitation, and the world crashes around them and rebuilds itself with their first kiss.

  
Jefferson's hands move to his own scarf, unknotting it hastily to reveal the rarely seen expanse of his throat.  He fastens it around Alex's own neck before undoing his top's buttons, all while still kissing the immigrant in front of him.

  
He presses his palms against Alexander's chest, but the idea of backing up even a centimeter has Hamilton whining desperately.

  
"No, it's okay, I'm not leaving.  Look,"  He murmurs against Alex's lips.  He moves a hand to Alex's hair to direct his attention to the necklace of words he usually keeps covered.  Alexander _mewls_ upon seeing them, and leans forward to kiss each word separately.

  
"Jeezus, Alexander.  You would drive a saint to sin and a sinner to prayer!"

  
A few strokes of his fingers over Alexander's nipple with the hand not in the smaller man's hair, and then Thomas can't resist grabbing Hamilton's hip any longer.  He digs his filed nails into the skin there with a possessive vengeance.

  
"You are **_mine_** , Alexander, do you understand me?"

  
Alex _hmms_ in response and bites right above where Thomas knows his own name is written into his skin.

  
"Yes, exactly," Jefferson gasps, tilting his head back while Hamilton marks him with a hickey.  He scratches and pulls at Alex's hair.  Angelica Schuyler chooses that moment to walk in.


	6. Chapter 6

"Eliza wants Phillip; your apartment doesn't have the space for a dog, and" she says, but that's as far as she gets before Thomas' glare stalls her words.

  
"Do you mind?" He inquires with all the condescension he can manage while Alexander's tongue is doing _that_.

  
"We're having a moment here."

  
Alexander, bless him, doesn't remove his lips from Thomas' neck, guarding the words there jealously from any eyes but his own.  Jefferson switches to running his fingers gently through the handful of hair he has a hold of.

  
Anglica looks absolutely affronted.

  
"Well I'm  _sorry_ to have interrupted your _**hate fucking**_ , but I  _thought_ Alexander would want to discuss his  ** _pending_** _divorce_."

  
"We'll have room for the dog," Jefferson bites out spitefully, stroking the words on Alexander's hip when the smaller man jolts in shock.  "The house here has a decent enough yard; even if it can't compare to the estate in Virginia."

  
By the time Jefferson has finished saying this the crowd Angelica's yelling caught the ear of is unabashedly watching riveted.  John Laurens, of all people, whoops in delight.  
"Fina-fucking-ly!  I was getting sick of your constant pining!  'Jefferson's hair is so gorgeous," John imitates poorly, "Why do his suits all have to be so well tailored?' 'He's so smart, John, I bet he thinks I'm just some dumb upstart,' 'John, do you think he'll be wearing the blue scarf today?  Which one do you think looks best with the fuchsia suit?' I HOPE I NEVER HAVE TO HEAR YOU SAY THE WORD JEFFERSON AGAIN!"

  
Angelica turns shocked eyes to Laurens.  "You knew about this?"

  
"Well, not specifically.  I knew that Alex had been pining from the minute their verbal foreplay started."

  
The Schuyler sister crinkles her nose at the imagery.

  
Jefferson looks insufferably smug at John's narration.  James Madison sighs pointedly with exaggerated relief.

  
"If Alexander discussed Jefferson's hair  _half_ as much as Thomas brought up Hamilton's 'Eyes intense as starlight and as rich as coffee,' then we can drink together to celebrate the end of an era."

  
Alexander presses a smile into Jefferson's collarbone, and Thomas supposes being publically embarrassed has its upsides.

  
"Good luck with him," Angelica hisses icily, "He wouldn't know fidelity if it bit him in the ass."

  
Irritation ignites inside Thomas at her gall.

  
"I would  _hope_ that what Alexander and I have is built on a strong enough foundation that if his attention strays, he'll tell me about it."

  
Angelica's disbelieving scoff has Jefferson risking his next sentence with as much faked confidence as he can muster.

  
"He did look rather delicious, after all, when Burr fucked him over my desk."

  
Aaron is suddenly smiling in that strained way he has when trying not to reveal anything, and Thomas knows that he hit the nail on the head.  Alexander huffs a laugh into his skin, apparently amused with how Thomas has decided to win the argument.

  
"Like I said," Thomas drawls, "We'll have plenty of room for the dog.  If you'd like to discuss it during work hours again, feel free to make an appointment with Peggy, in reception."

  
There's no good retort to that.  Angelica started a fight without knowing it was a tag team, and lost without Alexander having to say a single word.  She makes a retreat with what's left of her dignity.


	7. Chapter 7

"Burr," Thomas says, and Burr looks terrified.

  
"Sir?"

  
"We're not going to talk about it," Jefferson iterates clearly, and thinks that they are both equal measures relieved with that statements utterance.  He wraps his arms around Alexander possessively.

  
"You can keep the picture."

  
That's as good as a "Thank you," and the ' ** _this_** _is mine'_ doesn't have to be said.

  
Stares the next day are inevitable, so Alexander shows up to work in Jefferson's scarf, and the only thing on Thomas' neck is a string of words like pearls, and a necklace of hickeys to match.


End file.
